


The Forgotten

by ArcReactorsandDragons



Series: The Forgotten [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abused Harry Potter, Can more peopel start using the Hogwarts students tag, Don't get me wrong, Gen, Good Slytherins, Harry Potter was Raised by Other(s), Harry potter was raised in an orphange, I dunno just whatever okay, M/M, Mentor Severus Snape, Morally Grey Harry Potter, Multi, Mute Harry, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Shit I have to do a do a summary too, Slytherin Harry Potter, Slytherins Being Slytherins, Smart Harry, Snapes not a huge dick in this, Sort Of, Swearing, Tags May Change, There are too many peopel fuck off, Warnings May Change, but hes sort of a good asshole, he doesn't speak a lot, he's generally an asshole, not excusing his past actions, sorry for my rambling, why isn't that a proper tag, you'll see - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 18:23:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14795610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArcReactorsandDragons/pseuds/ArcReactorsandDragons
Summary: Harry is dropped off at an orphanage at six years old and is raised much differently. They've got a strange sort of comradery there, but he knows they'd sell each other out in an instant at a chance for a better life.This upbringing changes his personality, but for the better or worse? He's much more suited to the Slytherin House and morally grey at best. Snape being less of an asshole in this AU looks out for him and becomes a sort of mentor.TL;DRSlytherin Harry, less dickish Snape, Will mostly follow canon except for a few choice plot points





	The Forgotten

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: MENTIONS OF ABUSE not much and doesn't display actual scene of abuse, but still pls be careful

The orphanage was, well, the simplest way to describe it was not nice. Oh sure the caretakers did the best they could- put food on the table, a roof over their head, clothes on their body. And if they were second-hand or had one to many people in the room? They could hardly complain could they, as their caretakers kept reminding them. They could be worse off, they could be  _ homeless _ or worse,  _ dead _ . It didn’t matter that most of the kids would almost prefer death than the grey words and hopeless chances of foster kids. 

The children there were nearly all abandoned, deliberately left there or had no family left. The forgotten ones. The children knew it of course, kids were always more deceptively perceptive. Memories played on repeat in the back of their heads if they were old enough to remember. 

The kids were vicious, ferocious, ready with a snarl and even at a young age, gearing for a fight. But they were also kind, with not-quite genuine smiles and sense of solidarity that came from growing up together in a god-forsaken place. 

No, Elderwood Ridge Orphanage was not a nice place. 

 

Six bedrooms were upstairs, along with two bathrooms; one just held a toilet and sink, while the other also held a shower-bath combo. In four of these bedrooms five children slept, using two bunk beds in each room, complete with a chest of draws in between each bunk bed and a wardrobe standing at the end. It didn’t matter that they had to share a wardrobe between two, as they didn’t have that many clothes to begin with. Anything that wasn’t absolutely essential to a singular person was shared amongst the occupants of the room, gender and age didn’t matter, if it fits you wear it. 

The last bedroom was for the younger residents of the orphanage, one crib holding a two year old and two beds, one holding a 4 year old girl and the other, a smaller-than-average, just-turned-six year old boy.

The moonlight fell through the window and cast a sort of quiet glow around the room. It was a sort of peace for that quiet boy who never had any.  Harry had been there for just over a month and was realising that he would never see the Dursleys again. Of course he had realised that the Dursleys were never going to take care of him again, but he thought they would… at least visit. See if this place was suitable for him. 

Even if he had to grudgingly admit that Elderwood Ridge had taken care of him better in that month than than the Dursleys had in his entire five years alive. He had thought that dropping him at the Orphanage on his birthday was just a side bonus of them not having to give him a present (just another excuse like every year). He realised now, that this was the best and only gift they had ever given him. Making sure he wasn’t in the Dursleys “care” anymore. 

 

With that in mind, he closed his eyes against the moonlight. Content for once, he knew he wouldn’t have to stifle any nightmares tonight. 

* * *

  
The children there don’t particularly like the “new addition”. He had a much chance of being adopted that the rest of them. With wild curling black hair, vivid green eyes against brown skin that spoke of mixed parentage, a white scar that spread like lightning across his forehead and through one of his eyebrows, and not to mention the ability to grin widely, showing a toothy grin with no hint of faking. He’s different and still believes in good and obviously still held a hope somewhere deep in his mind that his original carers will come back and embrace him with sorry smiles and an apology, despite the dark bruise on his cheek that accompanied him the first week, that told a different tale of their personalities. 

And while they hate him for it, they feel a distinct sadness at knowing that aspect of innocence will unknowingly end up crushed, unless someone adopts him. And if anyone ever came around, he would surely be gone, just like that. But people don’t come around. Far enough away from London that fields stretch around, but close enough that you can see the light pollution emanating from there, and just far enough out of the way from a town that they are practically forgotten, but for daily visits to the nearest market and sometimes to the park. Of course there was school, but the younger ones stayed at home, the ones in secondary school, they didn't make a fuss (while in the school) and as the saying goes, out of sight, out of mind.

 

The first thing they learned about Harry, was he didn't like speaking, he mumurmed his ‘please’s and ‘thank you’s and stared with almost curious eyes if someone asked him a question. They learned about Harry, was that, more often than not, he didn't respond to his name, that the word “Harry”, was just that, another word, it held no significant meaning. That no matter what, he always responds to “boy”, turning to face the speaker so fast that it could have caused whiplash. That touching was a no. But then, that was a rule with quite a few of the kids there. They also learnt that Harry was very good with children, be it younger or a few years older, he was somehow excellent at comforting them. 

They found that out when one morning, a week or two after Harry had arrived Jack, one of the oldest at 16 years old, commented on how the nights had been curiously free of babies crying. 

A small sense of pride lit up Harry’s eyes. 

“You’ve been caring after him, ain’t you?” Jack exclaimed. 

There was a sigh further down the table, “You can say caring for him, or looking after, you can't say caring after. That's just  _ wrong _ !” That was the  _ other  _ Jack, 14 and a little pretentious. 

“Well?” The first Jack asked. 

Harry nodded quickly, just once. 

“Consider me buggered! Little Joshua been more trouble than Alekta”, the older Jack pointed at the four year old sitting at next the Harry. The children around the table laughed and glanced at him in admiration, as Joshua harrumphed, even their caretaker quirked a small smile of gratitude at him.

 

Another thing they learned was, Harry loved plants.

Outside in the vast garden, there’s a vegetable patch along with herbs and an apple tree because it’s cheaper than buying the produce. Spreading across the yard, faraway from the impromptu football posts, were rows of lettuce and tomatoes, cucumbers and carrots, potatoes and peas. Herbs of thyme and rosemary, lavender and rocket, basil and coriander. And the apple tree, towering over by the side of the yard. Late September, the apples were rowing on its boughs, dipping towards the ground. 

Soon after Harry arrived there, morning after morning, rising earlier than nearly everyone - a habit that could never be broken from the Dursleys - would find him hands deep in the earth. Pulling weeds from around the plants, there was an air of contentedness that the children hadn’t seen while he was there. They learnt to leave him alone while he was working in the garden, and  _ not _ to kick the ball anywhere near his plants. Harry wouldn’t ever dream of shouting at them, or even telling them off, but he got that disappointed look on his face that made even the toughest kid there feel guilty.

 

There was a government funded teacher that came to the house every weekday for five hours a day for ages 6 to 11. Mrs Robinson was a strict teacher who wore a pantsuit no matter the weather, dark hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, and taught them the basics: Maths, English, Geography, History and the sciences. For those who were ambitious enough, she stayed an extra half an hour to teach French. 

The unfortunate aspect of these lessons was that everyone was taught at the same level and speed, despite the fact they were all different ages. But Mrs Robinson did the best… and even did a little extra…

“Now then class”, Mrs Robinson turned from the whiteboard, a marker in her hand, to the class. eight of them sat behind a table notebooks and pens in front of them. Eight others were at secondary school, while Joshua, and Harry’s four year old roommate, Victoria were too young.

“Try and answer all the questions on the board, first column has the easier sums, and the second the harder, you have ten minutes to answer as many as you can”.

For the next few minutes there was complete silence, bar the sound of pen on paper and breathing. 

“Harry?”

The boy in question had been squinting at the board, not having written down anything. He  turned to look at the teacher, tilting his head questioningly. 

“Why  aren’t you writing anything? We went over this yesterday, do you need to go over it again?”

Annoyed groans rose up from children at thought of going over the topic again. But Harry shook his head and used his hand to gesture to eyes then to the board. When it was obvious that Mrs Robinson wasn’t quite what he trying he hung his head in defeat and swallowed harshly. 

Lifting up his head, he spoke clearly, “I can’t see the board, Ma’am. It’s just too blurry”. 

Mrs Robinson hummed in thought. “I’ll take you to the opticians on saturday. I know that Miss Taylors is busy on that day”. 

Harry returned back to Elderwood Ridge Orphanage with a new pair of round framed, black wire glasses, paid by the government, the knowledge that he was nearsighted and a strange feeling of being watched by an old lady he was sure used to live on the same street as the Dursleys.

* * *

  
Of course, not everything was perfect. There were children there that didn’t like Harry and they showed it. The adults ignored it because “boys will be boys”. That phrase was heard more often not when Lucy and Karmen would go running to to Miss Taylors about how “the boys are fighting again!”

There were two boys, brothers, that seemed to hate Harry, but then they seemed to hate everyone, each other included, Jon and Henry, the former 14, the latter 16. And a girl also 15, Sophia. She had no legal last name (though here last names made no difference, having one made you feel somewhat superior), and there were rumors that her parents - with the last name Nott, who were meant to be of high class - had disowned her. No one knew why. Sophia seemed to have a personal vendetta against Harry, the first time Harry sat down for lunch with them, Sophia had eaten the lunch of sandwiches as quickly as possible, and then left with a contemptuous sniff in Harry’s direction. There was no question of her hate the next day when she made Harry cry by calling him freak. 

With sandy brown hair and brown eyes with a haughty composure, Sophia made every gesture or interaction with her seem like a gift from her. An expert at manipulating people, every adult thought she was a “lovely young women, with such perfect manners”. Everyone else in the orphanage or school knew differently. Especially Harry. Sophia seemed to harbour a certain kind of hate for Harry. 

Sophia’s eyes would turn icy when she saw him, her condescending voice dripping with venom as she commented once again, “Oh look, if it isn’t the little  _ freak  _ again”.

And of course no one did anything because Sophia had power and was able to target them instead and put them through hell. It just wasn’t worth it, if they were going to live here until they become of age then they might as well  _ not  _ make it worse. It was about survival. 

Jon and Henry were somehow both worse and better. They looked almost identical, despite their different ages. The only dissimilarity was their eyes, Jon’s brown, while Henry’s blue, both dark with anger and hate. They fought constantly, against each other and everyone, arguing against every order and rule.

 

It was particularly prominent in church. Most kids either were indifferent or just didn’t like it. Less to do with the beliefs, but more to do with the fact that they had to get up early, dress in their sunday best just to sit there silently, 

They were visiting the local church, nineteen of them, with one supervisor. Unless you were of another faith and actively practiced it, you had to go to church. Sana, at fifteen was muslim and proudly wore a hijab, telling everyone that they were her late mother’s. Eyan and Ekaa, brother and sister, twins in fact, were seventeen and Hindi. The only other reason that you wouldn’t attend was if you were too sick to stand, or like Joshua, too young to go without making a fuss.

 

At first, Harry Potter thought at first maybe he could believe in God. Believe that everything happens for a reason. Believe that it was God's’ will that found him sitting in a proper bedroom with an actual bed instead of in a cupboard. Those were the days when Harry prayed every night, not an official prayer, but one nonetheless. Apparently He gave credit for trying. So every night he prayed for a happy ending, asking God to put more food on the table, so everyone was strong for the upcoming winter, asked for God to take pity upon that group of homeless kids and give them a better life. 

Harry gave up believing when it was evident that he had forgotten about them and his prayers for happiness. When a kid, a sweet kid named Philippa, was dropped off one night in the winter. Not a few months after Harry arrived.  She was a year older than Harry and took the bottom bunk in his room. Harry was awake when she arrived in his room, Miss Taylors holding a bundle of sheets, and sent a questioning look towards the caretaker. She could only shake her head slightly. Harry caught a glimpse of bruises across her sunken face in the moonlight. 

Philippa had stayed but a week. She had a bad chest infection, Dr Grueler had said, and broken ribs. But the most he can prescribe is bed rest, antibiotics and for her ribs to be bound. 

Harry stayed by her side nearly all week, bringing a chair from down stairs, he sat by her bedside and kept her company, tending to the toddler when he needed to. 

And they talked. Harry Potter talked most in that week than he probably had his entire life. 

It was evident that she was getting worse, that the medicine was doing nothing and she was constantly in pain. 

So he did anything to distract her.

He found out that her birthday was the same as his. 

That her favourite colours were orange and pink, like the colour of the sky in the morning.

Because a new day meant starting over. A new day meant the start of something new. 

That her favourite animals were spiders, just because too many people hated them. 

That she was really smart and was fascinated how things worked. 

That she loved to swim.

That it was her step-dad who broke her ribs and left her outside in a storm on the front-door of Elderwood- Ridge Orphanage. 

 

Harry barely left the room, just to eat and to relieve himself. 

By the end of the week he had started to sit in bed with her, keeping her warm when she said that the duvet wasn’t doing anything.

Regardless of her worsening coughing fits that left her breathless and specks of blood on her hand. Of Miss Taylors telling him to just get back on the top bunk. But there was no real conviction in her voice.

But hospital was too expensive said the government. There are worse cases that need to be dealt with sooner.

 

So Harry told her things too.

That his favourite colours were indigo and the dark blue-y black, like the colour of the night sky.

Because it meant the day was finally over. So he could just fall back asleep and ignore everything.

That his favourite animals were snakes. He found one in the garden one day. He’d been able to talk to it. Philippa had accepted that no questions asked.

That he couldn’t read right. The letters got muddled in his head, but he was so interested in the world.

That he loved to run. Fast.

That he didn’t mind spiders because they were the only living things in the house that didn’t harm him. They kept him company in his bedroom- the cupboard under the stairs.

 

The last night she stayed at Elderwood-Ridge Orphanage, before the she was sent away to hospital- because apparently they had found money from  _ somewhere - _ Philippa asked Harry to stay up all night, “so we can see the sunrise. Together”.

That morning they watched a natures display of colour, splashes of pink and orange and all colours she proclaimed,“brilliant”. 

“See Harry, isn’t it beautiful?”

He murmured his agreement, “beautiful”.

“It’s a new day now, we can start over. I’m going to better soon, just you watch. I’ll be a brand new girl”. 

They fell asleep with the promise of the morning sun over their faces. 

Harry was the only one who woke up. The girl still in his arms, a peaceful smile still on her face.

The funeral was a small affair. At the local church. A plain headstone that read:

>  
> 
> “Philippa Doe
> 
> Taken too early, now at God’s side”. 

 

The colours of the night were creeping on the sky. Trails of red mingled with indigo, gems of cold white early in the sky a comforting blue that was almost black. 

_ Maybe God does exist _ , thought Harry,  _ watching as a the day drew to a close, but He certainly doesn’t care about people like us. Already forgotten to the powerful like Him. _

* * *

  
It’s a week before Christmas, and they are told to pray a little harder this year, maybe they’ll get a couple presents this year. None of them really expect any, anyway. Dealing with British weather and winter on top of that, most of the expenses had gone to keeping the heating on maximum, and buying extra clothes for warmth. 

There was a man in one of the pews, near the back. Watching them. Harry in particular, he was sure of it. He could just about feel the way the man’s eyes bore into the back of his head. A shiver ran down his spine, but it had nothing to do with the cold winter weather, but he wrapped his arms a little tighter around himself anyway. 

“Alrigh’ there, Harry?” That was Jack, the older one. He was home for winter. For the rest of the school year, he was away at an institute in Scotland, pre-paid by his parents.

“He didn’t usually come home for Christmas”, the younger Jack had whispered when the other Jack had appeared at doorway, “but after this school year, he’s leaving to live in London. Wanted to spend the holiday with us for the first time in six years.”

Now, Harry just angled his head slightly behind him instead of answering the question. Jack turned around and started slightly, looking confused. 

“Jus’ stay close to Miss Taylors, kay?”

 

Mass was over, and Miss Taylors was talking to the priest like she always did. So Harry crept outside to the graveyard, to the newest grave. Dirt still freshly turned over, nothing had grown during the short time that had passed. 

As he stood over the grave, he felt a figure approach behind him. Out of instinct, he stiffened, waiting for the other to do something. As, they stood there in silence, and the person didn’t make any movement, Harry faced the inevitable and turned around. 

He observed the man standing behind him, hooked nose, chin length black hair that was so shiny, Harry wasn’t sure if it was the light or if it were grease. Dark eyes, practically black. He looked young, but as if stress had aged him many years older. 

“What’s your name, boy?” 

Harry only tilted his head slightly. 

“Well, didn’t hear me?What’s your name?” The man repeated irritably, looking as if he rather wouldn’t know who he was, or really be there at all. 

                                                     **Change in POV**

Severus Snape was having a terrible day. As per usual, he stayed as a supervising teacher at Hogwarts through the holidays between terms, as he did as a student. Because Christmas was always terrible for him, no matter his age. He just couldn’t decide whether it was worse when he was a child with a family that didn’t want him or now, when no one liked him at all. At least he could get a little satisfaction out of scaring the brats a little.

Now he had to go search for the wretched Boy-Who-Lived. Because Arabella Figg had only just realised the Golden Boy was missing from  _ Tuney’s  _ House. A quick use of the spell Legilimens had found the name of place where they had dropped him off. Elderwood-Ridge Orphanage.

And just his luck, he had to go check up on him, because there were a lot of teachers at Hogwarts anyway, and it didn’t matter if he went missing for a day. 

Sitting in the back of the pews, he watched the children of Elderwood-Ridge Orphanage file in near the front, presumably in their sunday best. Dressed in heavy cotton clothes and thick woolen cardigans and jumpers, somehow they still managed look respectable. 

And there was Harry Potter, he was sure of it. He looked rather indifferent to being there, startling eyes glazed over behind round wire frame glasses. He looked a lot more like his father than his mother. Copper skin, curled black hair that was wildly out of control, and apparently his father’s bad eyesight. But his eyes were all Lily’s. A little colder perhaps, but the same bright green. 

But there was a thin white scar stretching along his forearm when he lifted his jumper to scratch it that Lily nor James had.

Harry’s head was bowed throughout Mass, and while the other kids whispered from time, he interacted with no one, except one boy on his right. Who looked familiar…

The boy whispered in Harry’s ear, then turned to look at him. Jack Hoppe. Sixth-year Ravenclaw. Prefect. Easy going attitude, yet a need to be known as smartest. Seemed to respect teachers, yet had never been afraid of Snape. And now apparently lives in the same damned orphanage as Harry Potter.

Sitting through the sermon was practically torture. But he couldn’t get and leave halfway through or risk drawing too much attention to himself. So he sat there, staring at the back of Potters head, cursing both the Dark Lord and Dumbledore.

At the end, the children stood up as one and walked  near the entrance , the caretaker Miss Taylors left to go talk to the priest, and he tried to spot a head full of black hair. He caught the boy slipping out the doors round the side and followed him. 

Walking slowly, Snape stopped a foot or so behind the boy, wondering why he stood at a grave. It couldn’t have been more than a month or two old. Confused at why the boy would be standing there, not missing the way the boy stiffened as he approached, when his parents graves were definitely not there, he tried to read the name on the grave. 

Philippa Doe. She was only seven years old when she died. 

Finally, the boy turned around, observing him. Closer now, Snape could see the white scar spreading across the side of his forehead, and parting one eyebrow, ending near his eye. 

Lily had the same shaped eyes, and the same long eyelashes. But they weren’t the same green as Lily’s, close though. He was right before, they were much colder than Lily’s. Much too cold for a six year old. 

“What’s your name, boy?” It wouldn’t go down well if he knew Snape already knew his name. He didn’t miss the way Harry become more attentive suddenly. But the boy didn’t do anything other than tilt his head.

“Well, didn’t hear me? What’s your name?” Snape repeated irritably, he didn’t want to be here longer than necessary.

“Wotcher, Harry, Sir! Whatcha doin’ ‘round here anyway, ‘fessor?” Jack Hoppe, determined to make Hogwarts see how smart he was, yet refused to even try to speak properly.

Snape grimances and gestured to Harry, “He refuses to tell me his name, Mr Hoppe. Can’t you at least  _ try  _ to speak properly”. 

Hoppe just grinned at him, “Yeah, Harry don’t speak much, or really at all, Sir. Not even to random, strange men who keep starin’ at them durin’ sevice. I think you underestimate jus’ how scary you are, Sir. ‘Specially today, particularly terrifyin’.”

Snape sneered at him, “No use trying to flatter me, Mr Hoppe. I know you were one of the ones who were responsible for swapping the colours of Slytherin and Gryffindor. What I don’t know is how you made it irreversible for an entire week”.

Hoppe seemed to grin even wider, “Well, it don’t matter now, does it? What you havn’t tol’ me is why you’re here instead of up at the institute. Was it ‘cause you couldn’t stand having me not there to fill your days with Christmas cheer?”

“No,” he scowled at him. “I was given the task of checking up on Th- Harry.”

“Well come back to the house with us. Miss Taylors would love to have someone from the institute ‘round. To explain more ‘bout things in our world. Not sure how much I can say”.

Harry was looking at confusion between the two. And Snape realised how suspicious that last comment had seemed. “Won’t he tell anyone?”

“Harry? Nah, he knows how to keep a secret, dontchya? Besides how’s he gonna tell anyone? Harry don’t speak!”

Immediately, Harry’s expression changed. But instead of anger at the last almost mocking comment. It deepened into sadness. Turning his face to look up to Jack, his eyes hollowed out, and Jack immediately looked guilty and winced. “Right, sorry, Harry.”

Harry shrugged as if to say,  _ don’t worry about it. _

“Right then, let’s go talk to Miss Taylors now. She’s usually done talking to the priest now. I’ll call you when we’re leavin’, kay, Harry?”

Harry nodded in return and turned back to the gravestone. 

“Come on, Sir!”

Snape scowled again and made to move after Hoppe as he walked away. He was in for a long day. 

 

It turned out that the children had to walk back to the orphanage, a forty-five minute walk.

Snape walked at the back of the group, wishing he had the comfort of his black cloak, instead of this stupid muggle attire. 

He fixated his glare straight ahead, watching as some of the kids shifted nervously when they glanced back at him in curiosity.  Hoppe dropped back from where he was talking to a girl, about aged seven. “Alrigh’ Sir? Look as if you’re broodin’ more’n usual.”

“I do not  _ brood _ , Mr Hoppe. I am simply resigning myself to dealing with a simpering idiot like that Miss Taylors.” Snape spat out, levelling Hoppe with a dark glare. 

“I tol’ you before, ‘fessor. You can’t scare me. I live with the Nott’s disowned kid,” he nodded towards a tall kid, with shoulder length sandy brown hair. “Genuinely hates my guts, on account of my parents  bein’ muggle-born. An’ Harry too actually. An’ we live with dumb and dumber o’er there”, he nodded to two boys with brown hair, trying to trip over a kid he was sure was called Jack as well. “But they’re easy to deal with, jus’ scare em worse than they try an’ scare you, an they’ll leave you alone. Watch out now, they’ll try an’ do somethin’ to you as we get in”. 

Something caught Hoppe’s attention. Harry was watching the nicknamed “Dumb and Dumber”, with a strange intensity. Wait, no, not at them, something just past them. Snape followed his gaze to one of the bushes that lined the long lane leading to the Orphanage 

Something was moving in the bushes, keeping in time with boys’ pace. Harry jerked his head in an obvious nod. Something exploded out of bushes, a cacophony of hisses and dark red scales flashing in the grass. 

Pictures of Nagini rearing up in front of muggles and deserving and undeserving Death Eaters alike flashed to the forefront of his mind, and he stiffened inconspicuously, even as he moved forward.  But no, i seemed to only be an Adder, reddish brown with large black spots adorning the sides, about a meter in length. It reared up in front of the aptly named Dumb and Dumber, while Jack slowly backed away, the two shrieked and freaked out kicking out towards into. They fell and lost their balance, falling on their behinds, and they shuffled backwards frantically kicking towards it with their feet. 

Snape glanced about, everyone displayed concerned frowns on their faces, but no one made any move towards them to help. Miss Taylors hadn’t even noticed, presumably large amounts of noise was an occurrence with a large groups of kids, especially with Dumb and Dumber. It was the same at Hogwarts. Although if the levels of noise got anywhere  _ near _ it was now, Snape would have already handed out several detentions and deducted many points, regardless of the house. Though if it would be significantly less points for  Slytherin, no one could complain. Except the Gryffindors- loudly. 

He was about to move forward when Hoppe started laughing. “Nah, jus’ leave ‘em, Sir. They’re deadly afraid of Snakes, but they’ll be fine. Traumatised a bit, but fine.” 

“You must be a bigger dunderhead than I realised, Mr Hoppe.  _ That  _ is a venomous snake. Who definitely looks angry enough to bite. And though I might be wrong, there isn’t any anti-venom around here is there?”

Hoppe was still laughing, “Anti-venom, ‘round here? O’course not. But ‘Arry knows what he’s doin.” 

He turned to look at Harry, who was watching rather impassively standing near the front of the group, a smile playing on his lips. The boys were still scrambling on the ground when Miss Taylors finally noticed that no one was following her up to the house. She half jogged back to the crown gathering. 

“Henry! Jon!” She called out at she reached the crown. “A snake!”

Quite a few kids rolled their eyes at the obvious statement. Looking around wildly, Miss Taylors seized a long stick that divided at the end. She poked at the ground where the Adder was, trying to hold it down. Harry, he saw, was frowning now, and jerked his head irritably again, and the snake seemed to lose all fight. Still hissing, it lowered back down on the tarmac, and quick as it had arrived, it slithered back into the bushes. 

The boys were still making noise, apparently unaware that it was gone. Hoppe jumped forwards. “Hey! Jon, Henry! It’s gone now.” At the boys continued half whimpering, half shrieking, Hoppe sighed irritably. “Stop milking it! It’s gone, the scene is over, let's get back at the house before we freeze to death."

On the way back, Jon and Henry were suitably chastened, shuffling forward together, whispering fiercely. Whether they were trading insults, as their angry faces suggested, or somehow trying to blame the entire orphanage, Snape didn’t know. 

 

By the time Snape had left the orphanage, it was near sundown, as the motherly looking cook, who brought food for them on a Sunday insisted he stay for dinner, even at Snapes scowl and glare. She reminded him a lot Mrs Weasley, reminding him of the current red headed offspring at the castle. The dinner was lovely, if a bit lacking quantity, and the level of noise never neared the usual of the Great Hall, though it was still irritating. There were some very interesting characters at the dinner table. 

Sophia Nott, the first heir of the Nott family - disowned for being a squib. Obviously she had retained her pureblood lessons and ate with the finest manners and held a haughty composure during the entire meal. The younger kids, the toddler Joshua, and the four year old Alekta, were both loud, sat perpendicular to each other, Joshua sitting at the end of the table. Alekta tried many a time to feed the toddler, and said toddler disagreed with her actions, causing food to go everywhere.  The fourteen year old boy who Jon and Henry were first tormenting, was in fact called Jack as well, and seemed to try and correct everything everyone said. Especially Hoppe. There were a few he hadn’t seen at the church, a Pakistani girl who looked too young to be wearing a Hijab - who told him it was her late mothers - and a pair of indian twins. Everyone, familiar with each other, comfortably talked throughout dinner. But there was a shiftiness in their movements, and a look in their eye that told him they would sell eachother out in a moment to be somewhere better. There was a look in Sophia’s eyes that told him she would give the entire Nott fortune away to be a witch. 

And there was of course Harry.  Who didn’t speak, yet seemed more than capable to hold a conversation with everyone. He had an easy grin and an innocent face that some of them there despised - Sophia, Henry, Jon and a couple others - or loved - Hoppe, Alekta, Joshua, Eyan and Ekaa (the twins)- or just couldn’t care less. 

 

At the end, walking away far enough so he could dissaperate, he mulled over what Miss Taylors had told him. 

At first she refused to tell him anything, despite telling her he was on business for Dumbledore, and it was necessary for him to know, until Hoppe had vouched for him, telling Miss Taylors that he _ was  _ from his world. Snape admired her ability to refuse him, even when he was at his most terrifying. It seemed that the head of every orphanage had to know about magic, in case of accidental magic or if one of the children went to Hogwarts when they arrived. Miss Taylors had know a little about  the war with the Dark Lord, as much as Hoppe could tell her at least. But she hadn’t know it was the Harry in her care who was The-Boy-Who-Lived. Hoppe hadn’t known either, but had suspected. W

hen Snape had asked him to elaborate, and so had had, shrugging, “history books, he was the same age and name,  _ oh and the huge scar on his forehead _ ”.

They knew practically nothing about his background. Until Snape arrived, they didn’t even know his last name. Or that his birthday was the thirty-first of July. The day he was dropped off there. 

The only thing they knew was that his name was Harry, he was six years old, and he was severely underweight. From the way he was dressed, in dirty, too large clothes, they had assumed he was homeless and had found his way there. But then there was the bruise across his face and a red strip disappearing across his shoulder that suggested more injuries. When Snape had asked with a scornful drawl why that hadn’t checked it out, she had said that it had taken a month for someone to come down and take him to a hospital in London, and since she wasn’t his official social worker and Harry had asked no one to know, she didn’t know the extent of the injuries. Just that he had been abused. 

They didn’t know why he didn’t speak. Snape had asked how they knew he  _ couldn’t _ speak, and Miss Taylors had raised an eyebrow at him and replied with slight amusement in her voice. That he does speak- sometimes. He says his ‘please and thank you’s’. But he never talks to strangers, and never grown men if he could help it. They had had to get a woman doctor in when he had his check up, the social worker had reported, because Harry had refused outright to go near him. It had taken him over a month and a half to say anything to anyone at the orphanage, the first person he had spoken to - surprisingly- was Jack Hoppe.

Snape had a lot to report to Dumbledore. And the Dursleys were about to get in a whole lot of trouble. 

**Author's Note:**

> Pls read and review, leave a kudos if I entertained you in any way at all


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